


Of Bards and Daggers

by lynamoon



Series: Of Bards and Daggers and Prideful Witchers [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Competency Kink, Fighting, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Knifeplay, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Sexual Tension, Swordplay, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24649231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynamoon/pseuds/lynamoon
Summary: “I’d like for you to be able to protect yourself in case I’m not around”ORGeralt cares about Jaskier's safety and teaches him how to wield a dagger. Sexy hijinks ensue.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Of Bards and Daggers and Prideful Witchers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795078
Comments: 14
Kudos: 188





	Of Bards and Daggers

**Author's Note:**

> Had this thought while in the shower. Wrote it down in a way that hopefully makes sense. I have next to no knowledge about sword fighting, but I did a little research beforehand. Please forgive me if some details are inaccurate. Enjoy! :)

“You’re lunging too far. When I said fighting was like a dance, I didn’t mean literally”

“Well what do you expect me to do?! I partake of the arts…I’m a lover, not a fighter!”

“Yes, well versed in that I’m sure”

“Indeed, my good man! At Oxenfurt, I once had the honor of bedding this lovely…wait, that was sarcasm wasn’t it?”

A brief chuckle passed the Witcher’s lips. Jaskier rolled his eyes and adjusted his grip on the dagger Geralt had lent him. Smaller weapons weren’t the Witcher’s style, but he kept a few in Roach’s side pouch just in case. Such occasions where close-quarters combat was required were few. Most of the time, the man’s two swords he wore on his back were enough to fend off any attack. Jaskier had tried holding one of the swords once and the tip had swiftly met the ground from the weight of it in his hand.

“I’d like for you to be able to protect yourself in case I’m not around”

“I doubt a dagger would be of much use if I were to encounter another Djinn keen on eviscerating my vocal cords”

“Jaskier…”

The sound was exasperated, but firm. He knew when Geralt’s mind was set, there would be nothing changing it.

With Geralt’s aid, Jaskier kept practicing until nightfall.

The night was pleasantly warm, and the moon overhead shone rays of light through the trees. Jaskier put on his flowy bed shirt and trousers, sitting atop his bedroll gazing up at the stars. He lightly palmed the lute that always kept him company. The wooden instrument felt familiar in his hands, unlike the blade he had practiced with per Geralt’s demands. Although, there was something beautiful about the tool. The strips of leather wrapped around the base in an elaborately woven pattern. The blade curved slightly to a thin, sharp point. The craftsmanship was exceptional. Someone had put so much time and effort into something that seemed so foreign in Jaskier’s hands.

He took notice of the wood grain of his lute. The curvature of its neck; fret laden with string perfectly taught and finely tuned. The two objects were not so dissimilar. Both had their purpose and were well crafted and cared for. It hadn’t occurred to him how significant that moment was when Geralt handed him the weapon. He was starting to understand how important it was to him that Jaskier remain safe.

Geralt would never admit it, but he snored in his sleep. Not loudly as one would think, but incredibly soft. Almost like a tiny man playing an even tinier whistle in rhythm with the rise and fall of his chest. Jaskier would also never admit he found this adorable for fear of another punch to the gut. Remembering the day they started their journey made him both smile and clutch his abdomen. To be fair, _he_ was the one following Geralt on _his_ journey. The Witcher had every right to be wary about a stranger lending themselves to his aid. He had been told that Witcher’s were confrontational monsters, their whole lives slaying beasts and roaming the Continent in solitude. As he had learned now, at least in Geralt’s case, Witcher’s were more reserved and lonely than they let on. In fact, he’d never seen the Witcher actually angry before. Maybe frustrated or pissed, but never angry. Geralt relayed stories of fighting countless monstrosities, but as he stated it was ‘just part of the job’. He wondered if his presence made Geralt more aware of his actions; more cautious as to not scare off good company.

He suddenly had a very bad idea.

Ever so slowly, he quietly stepped off from his bedroll. The hardened dirt below his feet helping to absorb the noise as he walked toward Geralt’s side. It was only a few moments before he reached the foot of the Witcher’s bedroll. He crouched just above him and retrieved the knife from his side. He barely had a chance to grip the hilt before Geralt flung his body towards him, deftly pinning the bard to the ground.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Jaskier gasped at the tight fists gripping his arms above his head. The dagger had fallen to the wayside as Geralt hovered mere inches from his face. A fire lit behind his eyes before dissipating as he came to recognize the man beneath him.

“Just uh…y’know…wanted to see if uh… you still had those…t-those, Witchery senses. As like a maybe…subconscious thing…. Just don’t know h-how you do it is all….” Jaskier rambled.

“Hmm. I could’ve slit your throat before you could even scream. My “Witcher senses” allow me to hear everything in my surroundings, and nothing about you is quiet, bard”

Jaskier knew for a fact Geralt would never hurt him purposefully. That being said, experiencing his brute strength first-hand was a little foreboding.

“Right….got it…” Jaskier breathed. “I w-won’t practice my…sneaking skills around the White Wolf. Perfectly reasonable!”

For a moment Geralt did not move from his spot above him. His chest pressed down into the man below him. His large hands held Jaskier’s wrists down. He could do some serious damage to Jaskier if he wanted to. Having his body underneath him, completely at his mercy, his prey if he hadn’t decided long ago to become more man than animal. Jaskier tried to wriggle his arms away, face flushed in embarrassment. Realizing more than enough time had passed, he relinquished his grip and backed off from atop the bard. Jaskier let out a ragged breath. Geralt picked the dagger up and handed it back to him.

“Don’t test me again, bard. Now get some sleep”

“Noted” the bard said turning his face away. His attempts to hide the flush that came over him were inadequate to say the least. He only hoped he could make it back to his bedroll before Geralt noticed other parts of him that had become flushed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next day was spent trekking through the dense wilderness. They had stopped briefly at a nearby town to gather supplies before making their way onward. Jaskier felt the leather holster around his waist, making sure the dagger remained sheathed. Giving him a sharp object to carry around wasn’t the greatest of ideas as the bard was prone to clumsiness. However, wielding sharp objects was what Geralt did best and was one of the only practical things he could teach Jaskier.

“Where did you get this?”

“Get what?”

“This dagger” Jaskier unsheathed the weapon, holding it firmly and watching the blade reflect the midday sun.

“I made it”

“You what?”

Geralt huffed. “I made that dagger. A long time ago”

“Wow. Well, uh, you really know your stuff! The craftsmanship, the attention to every detail. It’s honestly a beautif—wait _why_ would you give this to me?! This is bound to have so many stories, lived through so much in its’ life! It must be of incredible significance to you! I can’t possibly take—”

“It’s yours, Jaskier. I have no need for it anymore”

“But Geralt, I—”

“No. There’s no discussion. A weapon is meant to be wielded, given a purpose”. Geralt paused for a moment. “I spent a full week crafting it, making sure it was flawless. It’s the first proper weapon I brought to life with my own design. I guess it _is_ sentimental, but sentiment doesn’t bode well in the life of a Witcher. So please, at least learn to hold the damn thing correctly for my sake”

Jaskier closed his mouth, he hadn’t realized it was partly ajar in awe. He knew whoever crafted the weapon must’ve taken extreme care in its creation. It really wasn’t a surprise that Geralt was the type to make sure a job was done correctly; seeing a task through to the very end despite the hardship. It made something in Jaskier’s chest flutter at Geralt giving him the handmade weapon that meant so much to him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It became routine for Geralt to teach Jaskier during the evenings, which included meditation before bed. Geralt was seated on a log near the fire, palms placed on his knees, back straightened, and eyes shut. The practice was something Geralt had picked up from his time at Kaer Morhen. He had told Jaskier of the boys that had gone mad from the effects of the mutagens, or simply from not being able to handle the stress. Because of the brutal training, they needed some way to cool down. A place in their minds they could go to cope with it all.

“I quite like the practice of meditation. I see how important it is to decompress after a difficult day, especially with your level of physicality. It really does help to clear the mind of its worries, stressors, anxieties. You know, your mental state can adversely affect your phy—"

“Jaskier?”

“Yes, Geralt?”

“Quiet”

“Ah, right…the whole ‘silent contemplation’ thing…”

Geralt breathed deeply inward, then outward. Jaskier followed suit. They remained like that for a few minutes before Jaskier heard Geralt stand and walk back toward his bedroll. Jaskier opened his eyes and watched as he strode, swiftly removing his shirt as he went. Jaskier couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of the Witcher each time he did so. He was only a man after all, and he certainly wasn’t blind. He took closer note of the linear scars across his back. Although the wounds healed incredibly fast, there was always a reddened mark left behind as a reminder.

He was a protector. Witcher’s defended others that could not defend themselves. It was this fact that made Geralt, and the scars adorning him, incredibly attractive to Jaskier.

It was also this train of thought that led Jaskier to another bad idea.

The bard rose from his seated position and followed behind the Witcher. He unfastened the buttons of his doublet, shrugging it off his shoulders when the two were side-by-side at their bedrolls. He made a bit of a show of taking it off, garment lingering around his wrists as he turned to face Geralt. Geralt looked over, quickly cutting his eyes up and down the bard in a questioning manner.

Then, Jaskier removed his doublet completely, tossing it at Geralt. Geralt’s vision was momentarily obstructed. He caught the garment just in time to see the bard deftly lunging toward him.

Instinctually, Geralt twisted his body away from the oncoming blade. He spun around the backside of the bard. With one hand, he grabbed Jaskier by the wrist, plunging the dagger into the solid earth below. With the other hand, he flung the fabric around Jaskier’s neck, tightening his grip like a vice. They both hit the ground. Geralt came down on his knees, pulling the bard by the doublet. Jaskier fell back onto the man’s chest, knees spread around those below him.

“Fuck!...” Jaskier cried as his hands clutched the fabric around his neck.

“Didn’t I already warn you, bard?’ Geralt chided.

“Well…ye-yes, you did” Jaskier coughed once, then twice, “Just…trying to be m-more stealthy…wanted to see…if that would work…”

Geralt thought for a moment. Technically, his plan _had_ distracted the Witcher. The movement threw him off unexpectedly.

“A surprising tactic, yes, but very stupid”

“Well there you go! I was able to catch _you,_ the big bad White Wolf, by surprise!” Jaskier turned his head slightly to the side, showing off a shit-eating grin.

“Well, I’m not the one who was close to taking their last breath”

The Witcher pulled back harder just to drive his point home. Jaskier audibly gulped. His feet attempted to push away from the ground in vain. Geralt kept them both seated there, still breathing a bit heavily from the altercation. Geralt had a second to take stock of their situation. He soon realized they were in a _very_ compromising position: him pulling the man by the neck back into his lap, hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of the blade exceedingly close to Jaskier’s...

Geralt abruptly let both of his hands free and pushed out from underneath the bard. Jaskier couldn’t help but let out a small whine at the sudden lack of restraint around him.

“Go to sleep, Jaskier. Next time, I might not be so kind”

Jaskier stared at the man as he walked away, a tingle racing up his spine at the thought.

Geralt released his hair from the strip of fabric tied around it. He quickly made his way back to his bedroll, wondering how the hell he’d be able sleep with the sudden pressure in his trousers. With luck, Jaskier wouldn’t find out that meditation wasn’t his only form of stress relief.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few weeks had passed, and Jaskier was getting the hang of handling the weapon. His grip more precise, his aim truer, and his stealth…well, needed a bit of work honestly.

The more comfortable Jaskier became with the blade, the less Geralt hovered. At first, Geralt made a habit of prodding Jaskier’s arms and legs to correct his stance. Leaning over him to line his arm parallel. Gripping his waist, straightening his spine. The first few sessions were essentially Geralt manhandling Jaskier to demonstrate the proper techniques. To say Jaskier felt babied at times would be true, but to say he wasn’t enjoying himself was a lie. He knew Geralt could feel his heartbeat race with every parry; he just hoped the man only chalked it up to the exertion and nothing more.

“Come on, Jaskier. I’ve met geese who put up a better fight than you” Geralt teased.

“Well, you know, it’s not like I’m sparring with the famed Butcher of Blaviken or anything…” Jaskier retorted.

“I resent that name”

“I know you do…maybe now you’ll take my efforts in this mock brawl seriously!”

“Oh a ‘mock’ brawl, is it? I can make this more real for you if you’d like”

Geralt lunged at Jaskier, his blade heading straight for the other man’s stomach. With a well-timed twist of his wrist, Jaskier blocked Geralt’s dagger from making contact with his body. The Witcher; however, predicted such a move and countered. Geralt swung his left arm behind Jaskier’s back. In one swoop, he twisted Jaskier’s right arm upward and out. The blade was still in hand, but unable to be moved. He then kicked Jaskier’s right knee in the opposite direction, causing him to quickly fall into a heap of limbs on the ground.

“That...” Jaskier breathed “…was not fair!”

“And what was it you’ve always said about love and war, bard?”

“You hadn’t taught me that one though, you absolute bastard!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. He flung his dagger toward a nearby tree, the blade piercing the bark and lodging itself within. Jaskier fumbled up from the dirt.

“Hey, we’re not done here!”

“Oh, I think we are. At least until you can control that mouth of yours. You know you always get yourself into deep shit with what comes out of it”

Jaskier couldn’t exactly argue. Geralt had saved his ass on more than one occasion where his words flowed free before his brain could catch up. He stared Geralt down, adjusting his jaw as if he had anything to say back. Geralt returned Jaskier’s stare, tilting his head to the side in amusement.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After their discussion from the previous night, Jaskier kept his mouthing off to a minimum as to not further prove Geralt’s point. He was known for being a stubborn brat at times, but so far Geralt had not left him stranded in the middle of the night because of it. Jaskier took this as a sign that the man did somewhat appreciate his companionship.

Jaskier continued his training, albeit more vigorously due to his assertions that he could handle it. Jaskier knew Geralt would never intentionally cause him serious injury, but his prowess was quite intimidating at times.

“Better…” Geralt remarked. “Remember to use your other arm as a defense. And keep your sta—”

“Stance low, feet moving…”

“Hmm”

“Yes, I do, in fact, listen to your advice” Jaskier replied at what he knew was a grunt of mild annoyance at the interruption.

Jaskier may have selective hearing at times, but that never stopped him from listening. He was actually a pretty good student. Geralt had expected more complaints from the bard, but the lessons proved surprisingly enjoyable for both parties. Even though Geralt had never really taught before, he found instructing came easily.

“Well then, I’ll give you a minute to mull over my teachings while I catch us something to eat” Geralt stated, tucking his dagger back into its holster.

“Rabbit, please. Preferably braised and served in a sumptuous rosemary cream sauce”

Geralt simply grunted in reply.

Jaskier chuckled to himself. He turned the dagger over a few times in his palm. Looking towards the trees opposite him, he spotted the blade from yesterday still lodged into the trees trunk. He strode over to the tree and, with a bit of effort, was able to free the blade. Jaskier held both daggers, the one he’d just retrieved was a far cry from the intricacy of the one Geralt had given him. For a minute, he feigned slaying an imaginary assailant by duel wielding the daggers. He sliced at the air, crossing the two over and under each other. The attacks certainly looked impressive, but Geralt was correct about leaving one arm open in defense. It was more practical to wield only one blade at a time.

This thought suddenly sparked what may be Jaskier’s worst idea yet.

Geralt returned a short while later with their dinner: two reasonably large rabbits. Jaskier spotted him and hurriedly hid himself behind the nearest tree. Jaskier knew Geralt could recognize his scent like a shark to a drop of blood, but that wasn’t the point. Jaskier wanted Geralt to find him. He wanted him to fall into his trap.

“Jaskier?” Geralt called out. No reply. His disappearance seemed odd as the bard would never skip a hearty meal. Geralt lay the rabbits near the fire and inhaled the air around him. Jaskier was close by. Very close. But why would he not answer him? Geralt walked a bit further from the campsite. He could see exceedingly well in the dark, so it was no trouble scanning the forested area for the bard. Geralt had just walked past a tree when he heard leaves crunching from right behind him.

Geralt jerked his body around, narrowly missing a slice to the neck from Jaskier. Geralt retrieved his dagger with haste and lunged toward him. Jaskier blocked his attack with his arm, pushing the oncoming blade away from his chest. Geralt swung around him. He attempted to jab Jaskier in the side, but Jaskier dodged the attack. The bard had learned to be quick on his feet.

“Impressive” Geralt said.

“Thank you, Geralt. I thought I’d brush up on my—”

Before the bard could blink, Geralt had him pinned to the tree behind him. Geralt gripped Jaskier’s forearm, holding the bard’s own blade a hairs width away from his jugular. Geralt’s blade pointed downward near Jaskier’s sternum.

“Always one for flattery” Geralt remarked with a smirk.

Jaskier’s expression; however, was not what was expected. A sly grin made its way across Jaskier’s face. Geralt was puzzled. The bard had been beaten. Why was he smiling?

Then, Geralt felt the icy touch of steel to skin.

Jaskier’s second blade rested against Geralt’s lower abdomen. The tip of the dagger slipping just slightly under the hem of his black shirt.

“Always one for pride” Jaskier spoke soft and low.

Geralt’s eyes widened. His pupils dilated in…well…he couldn’t place the emotion. He backed off from Jaskier and puffed his chest out instinctually. Jaskier’s dagger slid down across Geralt’s belt buckle with a metallic hiss. Jaskier moved to Geralt’s side, dragging the blade ever so lightly across the man’s skin as he went. He sheathed the blade and casually walked away without uttering another word, leaving Geralt flustered and hot. As if there were nothing left unsaid between the two of them.


End file.
